The Worst Notes Played
by LaptopWriter22
Summary: "I clenched the recorder in my hand as I pushed the wall in place. As I expected it would, the crack in the wall disappeared. I didn't know if the book would ever come back, but at that moment, I was too excited to care." My first uploaded WordGirl fanfiction! This is a Victoria Best origin story, or at least the origin of her special powers. One-shot.


The Worst Notes Played: A WordGirl Fanfiction

_**Disclaimer: I do not own WordGirl**_

I sat squirming on the couch beside my mother, holding my recorder, as the principal talked. Mother sat perfectly still during the conversation except to exchange glances with Father, who was sitting opposite her. I tried glaring at the principal, wishing she would stop, but she didn't. All I knew was that I was in trouble. Big trouble.

"I'm not saying that Victoria has no musical talent, just that she may need to find another instrument," the principal explained soothingly.

"That's ridiculous! Our Victoria can be the best at anything she wants to be," Father retorted. The principal raised her eyebrows.

"Mr. Best, let me state it simply," she said. "Victoria cannot play the recorder. The noise that she makes when she does upsets the balance of the others. Now, Miss Lyricism, the music teacher, says that Victoria can be taught another instrument if you wish (she has piano in mind), but not the recorder, and not in time for the awards ceremony at school."

"Our son Victor already plays the piano," Mother pointed out. Her eyes took on a haughty look. "Victor Best XIII, you know? Straight A's in school." I waited, hoping this conference would turn into a bragging session, but Mother switched back to the present topic. "We don't want to have them doing the same things; what's the point of that?" she demanded.

The principal straightened. "Mrs. Best, the awards ceremony is on Monday, the day after tomorrow," she declared. "I see no way that Victoria can be ready by then."

"But the other children weren't ready either," Mother protested. "In fact, I thought you said that the recorder section sounded bad!"

"I did," the principal replied. "But Victoria sounds worse." My mother jolted. The principal cast an almost pitying glance at me. "I hate to say this," she said slowly, "but to be honest and to point out the extent of the problem here, Miss Lyricism said that Victoria played the worst notes she had ever heard."

The atmosphere suddenly changed at those words. I sank back into the couch, wondering what my parents would do at receiving this news. My parents' eyes went to each other, then to me. I gulped. The principal stood. "Well, that's all I came to tell you," she said. She turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Victoria is an exceptional child," she reminded my mother and father. "Really." Then the door shut behind her.

As soon as she was gone, my parents turned to me. "Victoria, what went wrong?" Mother asked me.

"The worst?" my father echoed the principal. "Victoria, those were not the kind of words we were expecting to hear. Were they, Gloria?"

"Not at all, Victor," my mother replied. Their eyes began to redden and focus on me. I shook my head, trying to ignore them, as my mother chanted, "Eyes on the prize, Victoria. That's what we've always told you." Their hypnotism kicked in. I felt my own eyes redden in return with the inherited determination to be the best.

"Yes," I breathed. "Eyes on the prize." But even in that driven hypnotic state, I couldn't shake one question.

"Now go up to your room and think about that, Victoria," my father commanded.

"Don't forget, you are the best at everything-you and your brother. Many generations of Bests have come and gone, but you must be the best of the best," Mother called after me as I left. "The best!" Her words echoed hollowly in the hall as I climbed the stairs leading to my room. And, as I trudged upward, searching for a way to please my parents, I tried a little of their mentality.

"I'm the best!" I asserted loudly. But the words died almost as soon as I spoke them. I knew deep down that they weren't true-at least not about playing the recorder. Even Becky Botsford, a girl my age with less musical talent than anyone in class, played the recorder better than I did. I looked at the recorder in my hand, a yellow stick with a few holes in it. I growled in frustration. I had done many other things that were harder than merely playing a musical instrument to please my parents, and been the best at them. What could be so hard about playing a recorder?

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see my mother climbing the stairs. "I heard what you said, Victoria," she declared, placing a hand on my shoulder. "That's the spirit! Now, you must be the best recorder player at the awards ceremony." I looked up at her and asked her the question that had been worrying me.

"How?"

"Keep your eyes on the prize, Victoria," Mother reminded me. "You'll figure it out. You can stay up late to work on the problem." Then, she went back downstairs. I could hear her and Father preparing to go to bed. I was left in a haze of frustration.

"How?" I asked myself again, muttering quietly. "How do they expect me to do this? What's so great about playing a recorder, anyway? It's the awards that count, and I know I'm getting all of those. What more do they want?" I reached my room and went in, shutting the door behind me, hot tears filling my eyes as my aggravation built. I sat down on my bed with the recorder beside me, silently contemplating being a child in a family that had the ability to hypnotize their children to be top performers, and had done just that for generations. A tear slipped out. Furiously, I scrubbed it off my face.

"That's it!" I whispered harshly, as loudly as I dared. "They know this is impossible. I can't do it, and they don't care." The tears came faster. "I hate my mom and dad, and-" I glared at the recorder lying on the bed beside me and suddenly snatched it up and hurled it across the room- "I hate this stupid recorder!"

The recorder glanced off the door, thudding as it made contact. I looked up at the sound, which lingered strangely, and saw that the instrument must have rolled into the hall. The door to my bedroom was fully open. I was sure I had firmly shut the door, but I shrugged it off as I wearily followed my recorder into the hallway.

The recorder had rolled to a stopping point directly in front of the end wall of the hallway. As I picked it up, I noticed a crack that I'd never seen before in the wall. As I followed the crack, I discovered that it looked like an opening. It looked like the entrance to a secret tunnel, and I had some curiosity left, so I pulled on the wall until it opened enough for me to slip inside. I cast a glance at my brother's room, but the door was shut. I hurried through the entrance I had made, still holding my recorder.

I was not prepared for what I saw inside. A huge black book covered with dust resting on a stone stand that I thought looked like a birdbath loomed before me. I was at about eye level with the book. Large, ancient-looking volumes usually didn't interest me-unless I was studying them in order to be the best at something-so I almost walked away. But the music stopped me.

I couldn't figure out where it was coming from, but that music was like nothing I'd heard before. It was sweet and yet had a haunting echo, and the rhythm was almost…hypnotic. As I listened, I discovered that I could see the notes. They looked like a pink trail with notes sprayed across it. The trail curved around me before disappearing along with the music. Then, the book opened. It turned its own pages to a place marked with a long ribbon. I looked at the words on the page. They read, "List of Bests who have been bestowed with special powers for the glorification of their names." I looked at the list. To my surprise, hundreds of my ancestors' names were written, but there were no more names after my great, great, great-great uncle, Tyrone Best.

_You see, Victoria, there have been few worthy lately._ I jumped. Words had just appeared on the page opposite the list of their own accord. I bravely answered the book instead of turning to run. I was the best, of course.

"Your list is wrong," I retorted. "My parents both have special powers."

_To the Bests, power to hypnotize their offspring is not power at all,_ more words

appeared._ It's just what they do. What about the power to hypnotize the world?_

I gasped and forgot how weird it was that a book could answer my questions. "How do I get that?" I asked.

_Not easily. However, as a child you have proved to be determined, winning everything your parents wanted you to. That in itself is a very hard thing, and because of your accomplishments, and because there hasn't been a Best worthy in centuries and I wanted to show up somewhere, I will grant you this power,_ the book replied. I held out my hands eagerly, but more words appeared. _Silly child, the power shall be placed within your greatest difficulty,_ they read._ It will be something you have not mastered-until now. For Alexandra Best thousands of years ago, it was conquering small towns. For Diana Best, it was being worshipped by her neighbors for her beauty. For Victor Best IX, it was math…_

"Uh-" I said.

_I digress. For you, it will be the recorder, _the words went on.

"I'll be able to play it?" The heady feeling of victory began to bubble inside me, the rush of winning that every Best naturally loves-and hates.

_Yes, in two ways. You shall play it normally and be better than anyone you come across, but when you channel your haughtiness and love of being the best into your playing, you will be able to hypnotize everyone. Now, lay your recorder on the book._ I did so at once, and a light shone while the music I could see played again. I gasped as the recorder turned pink with decorations across it. The name _Victoria Best_ appeared on the page under great, great, great-great Uncle Tyrone. When the music stopped, I picked up the recorder. The book closed, and I wasn't able to open it again. I tried a few notes. The music was exactly how I wanted it to sound. Then, I played it differently, and the pink note trail curved around the opening. I smiled in triumph and ran out from the opening.

I clenched the recorder in my hand as I pushed the wall in place. As I expected it would, the crack in the wall disappeared. I didn't know if the book would ever come back, but at that moment, I was too excited to care. I lifted the recorder above my head. Now, I didn't need to work so hard at winning; I could hypnotize anyone in the world to give me any trophy I desired. I never needed to worry about pleasing my parents again. And of course, at the awards ceremony at school on Monday, everyone would see who I truly was, and my parents would applaud me, for my recorder would play the best notes there. The _best!_

But there was no time for gloating. I climbed out my bedroom window that night, recorder in hand. Over this weekend, I'd get myself a trophy collection that would top anything my parents had ever seen. My ego built with my plans. I already was the best ten-year-old in the world, but now everyone would finally see it and love me like I deserved. For I was Victoria Best, and I truly was the best again-at everything.


End file.
